


Distractions.

by Lauren_is_a_moron



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Assassination classroom AU, M/M, ass class, i loved writing this tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-04-09
Packaged: 2018-06-01 05:00:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6501718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauren_is_a_moron/pseuds/Lauren_is_a_moron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil Lester is in the S class. Also known as “Special class” (No, they’re not supernaturally gifted) Instead these kids are quite the opposite; Known to the main campus as the screw ups of society; thrown in one big class because teachers had no idea what to do with them. But when a certified psycho threatens to nuke the earth and means it, Phil finds himself and his classmates, who are slowly coming ruthless killing machines, with the task of killing their teacher, and ultimately saving the world.  But there’s one problem: One of his classmates, the partially screwed up Dan Howell with the twisted smile and bright eyes. He is one hell of a distraction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distractions.

**Author's Note:**

> Fluffy thingy based on that anime with the octopus

Dan Howell is insane.

I’d caught him numerous times scratching his name into the mahogany wood of his desk, which is disturbing. But when he grabs me as I’m making my way to class with my head in the clouds, and yanks me into an empty classroom, slamming the door and standing in front of it with his arms spread out as if to block my escape. I stand corrected. Dan’s breathing heavily, and his face is damp with perspiration; his brown fringe, which is perhaps possibly the reason why I tolerate him. It hangs in his eyes, sticky strands blowing around with every haggard breath. “Phil Lester,” his voice is so low he almost sounds seductive. Actually I’m pretty sure he’s been taught the art of seduction. I think I missed that class thanks to a stomach bug which gave even me, a wannabe fifteen year old assassin, a day off school.  “I need your help.” He says, and his mouth widens into a terrifying smirk which simultaneously turns me on, and sends shivers going down my spine. He cocks an eyebrow and yes, he’s still holding the gun our teachers and the Ministry of Defense supplied us with.

“Fancy earning a million quid?”

I stare at him with my back against the door, and I myself am too breathing hard, because not only is Dan Howell terrifying with those fucking wide brown eyes and that uneasy grin, but when you give him a semi-automatic pistol, which he is currently dangling from his hand, he reaches a new level of scary. “Dan?!” I resist the stupidly overwhelming urge to whip out my own knife which rests in my blazer pocket and hold it to his throat. But it wouldn’t do anything to him, of course it wouldn’t. Just like the rifle which he is holding so whimsically wouldn’t do much damage to me either.

The truth is, our weapons wouldn’t leave a scratch on a human being; though it _would_ slice through the skin of our teacher, a psychopathic Japanese nutcase who had somehow managed to get his hands on missiles powerful enough to blow a hole in the earth’s crust. Oh, and he wasn’t exactly human either. Well he was- but his skin was a sickly yellow and he could move at the speed of light. I’ve lost count of how many times our class have stood there packing specially made bullets made of his kryptonite into his bulging body. But it was impossible. We being mine and Dan’s class- most of the main campus call us “S Class,” have one month to kill him. If not, he will blow us all to oblivion.

Dan continues to stare at me, somehow forgetting how to blink. His breathing slows and his cheeks which were a rosy shade of red eventually go back to normal. “Well?” he straightens up and lets his gun drop to the floor. “Whadya say, Lester?” his eyes are twinkling, and that’s when he’s at his most dangerous. I tended to ignore Dan’s existence,  since he was, like the majority of our class, fucked up. And that was before the crazy Japanese man with the strangely yellowed skin and lightning fast abilities, turned up and told us, a class of dumbass delinquents, that we had to _assassinate him._

I remember how it all started. It had been a fairly mundane day, even in S class standards. Dorothy Clark had been sent out for having a fit after failing her English coursework and had threw her pencil case at the teachers head, PJ Liguori had been caught drawing disturbing images and symbols on his desk and got his third warning that day, and of course, Dan had been called out numerous times for sitting there and reading out a particular vulgar chapter of the book _Fifty Shades of Grey._ He’d had both feet resting on his desk and was leaning back on his chair, the book resting in his lap.

So yeah, we’d been your regular class of fuck up’s. Except at the beginning we didn’t have semi-automatics and know how to slit a guy’s throat in one swift motion.  

“Breathe, Anastasia, breathe. I’m going to stand you up and let you go!” Dan read, laughing out loud, his brown eyes wide with amusement as he scanned the pages of the book. Then he looked up and locked eyes with the whole class including me, who was staring at him. Some of them were grinning and laughing along, but most of them were rolling their eyes and wishing he’d fall backwards off that damn chair. “Ooh, this is a good bit!” his voice broke slightly and he cleared his throat dramatically.

“Dan, you’re not funny,” Joe Sugg had turned in his seat and hissed at Dan, who smiled sweetly at Joe. “Go back to jacking off guys on Grindr, Sugg” he replied, blowing a kiss.

I swear Joe had gone a shade of purple I didn’t think existed. Joe was known for his anger problems. The boy had been diagnosed with ADHD after he threatened to murder his previous class, after they laughed at his exam scores compared to theirs. I kept out of Joe’s way. The last time I got on his bad side was when I stood on his toe on the way to class, and he’d turned around with that _gleam_ in most of S class’s eyes. “Touch me again Lester, and I’ll fucking rip your head off and stick it on the flagpole!” he spat right in my face. I’d been so shocked and scared, I’d nodded and kept a fair distance away from him ever since that accident.  Joe was a hard guy to understand. He chatted pretty crudely with other guys in the class about the girls, and which ones he’d like to “Bend over and spank,” but I swear I’d caught him scrolling through Grindr the other day.

Unfortunately, Dan had also noticed, and _boy_ had he made a deal out of it.

“What the fuck did you just say, _James?”_ Joe growls and rises in his seat, and I roll my eyes and brace myself for the onslaught. Mrs Tate our teacher who, might I say, can’t teach for shit, sits at her desk and marks papers. She doesn’t even raise a grisly eyebrow as Joe knocks his seat into the back of Chris Kendall’s desk, which is, surprise-surprise, also in this class for his anger problems.

Dan flinched at Joe’s nickname. He was born Daniel James Howell. And that hadn’t been known until Mrs Tate had been late for lessons one day, so half the class, including Joe, had gone snooping around on her laptop, and found Dan’s most prize secret. Everyone knew him as “Dan” or sometimes “Howell” when they were two seconds into knocking the shit out of him, but nobody knew that middle name. I personally didn’t mind it. He suited it. But Joe had found it hilarious, and called him James every day for the next month. Dan Howell was the kind of guy who sizzles in his own anger and holds it inside, boiling inside him, until he finally lets go, and fuck, it’s messy.

Dan had slammed his hands on his desk, but nobody had really jumped at the loud crack, because we were used to it. It was completely normal for him, or any member of S class to have a mental break down every day. “What did I _say_ about calling me that?!” Dan yelled, and his voice pierced through me. I’d put my head in my in my arms at that point, willing my ears to pop so I wouldn’t hear Dan’s twisted laughter as he repeatedly smashed his fist into Joe Sugg’s face, leaving no mercy.  Though Joe wouldn’t go without a fight; his tactic was to let Dan lose his fucking mind and beat the shit out of his face, before letting the tall boy sit there, still straddling his legs, and catch his breath.

Then he’d strike. And Joe was like a snake; sneaky and impossible to see coming. Joe and Dan had a fight nearly almost every day, over things going from Dan throwing a pencil Joe’s head, or Joe renaming him on the register as “James Daniel Howell” which didn’t sound _that_ bad. But to a class of fuck up’s and its psycho king Dan Howell? It was the worst things you could ever do to him.

Dan and Joe fought and squabbled every day, yet they still didn’t learn each other’s techniques and learn from them. I watched as Joe jumped up, eyes wild, causing Dan to topple of his legs and roll onto the floor. While they fight, I notice, nobody’s really paying attention. Louise Pentland is sitting mimicking Dan’s position with her feet on the table. She’s got this huge grin on her face for absolutely no reason, while she’s bent over her work, scribbling and doodling all over the sheet. PJ Liguori is folding his worksheets into paper aeroplanes and throwing them to the front of the class.

I turn my gaze to the front of the classroom and frown. Where did Mrs Tate go?

“Stop!” Dorothy Clark, who is well known in the class for her glass-shattering screech, stands and deafens everyone, looking like she too might go and knock the shit out of Joe and Dan.

“Joe and Dan freeze on the floor, and when I dare look at them they’re in a mass tangle of clenched fists and limbs splayed between them. Both of them are breathing hard, Joe lying ontop of Dan, who growls when Joe, for some reason, leans forward, still panting. “Get off me!” Dan hisses, pushing Joe off him. Joe stands up, fiddling with his tie which Dan had ripped off. I try to supress a smile at the two of them, because they’re half-dressed. Dan’s brown hair is a scruffy mess ontop of his head and there’s a line of scarlet streaked down his face. He touches the scar tenderly and frowns.

“You made me bleed.” He growls quietly, and Joe looks like he’s about to grab the tall boy and scalp him for the second time. But Dorothy, or Dodie, as she prefers to be called, tells them both to shut the hell up. “Where’s Mrs Tate?” she echoes my thoughts, and Dan and Joe finally seem to snap out of it. “Oh yeah,” Dan frowned, buttoning his blazer back up. Joe had managed to almost strangle him with his own tie. The two boys seemed to calm down and returned to their seats. Though Dan couldn’t stop seeming to touch the small scar Joe had clawed into his cheek.

“Attention!” a male voice made me almost jump out of my skin, and looking around the room, it freaked the class out too. My gaze slid over to the door to see a tall man who looked in his mid-thirties with black hair and what seemed to be a permanent frown. He was wearing a black suit which looked more expensive than my battered converse which had cost me nearly £80.

“Who the hell are you?” Of course Dan was the one to say that, while the others including myself were silent. The man made his way into the room and stood in front of the board which was covered in disturbing graffiti PJ Liguori had drawn instead of the meaning of pie. Joe let out a low whistle. “Are you like…Ofstead?”  And I considered Joe’s question. But no, this man looked higher up than Ofstead. His lips seemed to stretch slightly, as if he was _about_ to smile. But he didn’t quite manage that.

“This is a….Strange request.” The man cleared his throat, and began to speak.

Later on we would come to call this strange man one of our teachers.  He was Sam Felton; one of the most dangerous assassins in the world, and funnily enough, our new gym teacher.  But it wasn’t gym what we’d be taught. Instead of track and rounder’s, like normal fourth years, we’d be learning how to block your opponent in a fight and properly use a knife. Any other group of fifteen year olds would be shocked and confused at our new lesson plan. But I distinctly remember four of us; Me, Dodie and PJ, running through the forest, locked in a game of Killer. The rules were simple: one person is appointed as the so-called “Killer” and the rest of us had to do our upmost to stab them in the back. Literally. Well, with plastic knifes.

We were stealthily hidden behind a tree which was Dodie’s idea. PJ had been at the front, me and Dodie behind him. Dodie had been breathing so heavily I thought she was going to have an asthma attack.  

“I don’t get it,” PJ hissed. He was swinging his knife around carelessly, and I caught the gleam of metal, shivering. PJ Liguori was one of those kids you had to watch for. He was the quiet so-called “artist” in class, who drew creepy shit on the board and into his desk. But not on the field. He knocked me out in my first fight against him. I’d taken him in, trying to find a weak spot. PJ was a tall guy like me, but a day-dreamer.  However, when I tried to swing a fist into his face, he blocked it easily, wrapped his arms around my waist and floored me, managing to knock the breath out of me.

“How are we even supposed to kill him?” PJ’s dark green were narrowed on our target, who also happened to be our teacher. I stared at him along with my classmates, and my palm was sticky, wrapped around the wooden handle of my knife. Hiroshi Karasuma. A Japanese psyhco who had threatened to blow up the earth if he didn’t get to teach us how to become assassins.

He was calmly sitting there sat on a deckchair, reading a book. I felt the slick edge of my knife scathing my waist as I held it by my side. I could just take off now and drive the blade into his belly.

“Shit!” Dodie’s knife slipped out of her hand and she bent down, and snatched it back up, returning to her position. I wanted to ask PJ why exactly we were spying on our teacher when we _should_ have been playing Killer, but I didn’t bother.  The way he kept swinging his knife put me off.

I stood sweating in my PE kit- a white shirt, shorts and trainers. It was boiling hot and my legs were scratched and stinging after I’d tripped in a nettle bush while being chased by the so called “Killer,” who this time was Louise. She’d “killed” nearly the whole class, even Dan at that point. She’d caught him trying to sneak behind her and twisted around, sticking her knife into his side.

“Watch and learn.” PJ’s reaching into his pocket and pulling out his semi-automatic and clicking off the safety. “We’re not allowed to try and kill him during a lesson.” Dodie says matter of factly, and the twist of her lips makes me wonder if she’s going to start screaming like a fog-horn.

“Relax!” PJ aimed his gun at the teachers head, resting his finger on the trigger. “If I kill him, we’ll be rolling in it!” he hissed, and the determination in his tone scared me slightly. Since we were given the impossible task to kill our teacher, PJ Liguori had given up trying to draw all over his desk and day-dream during a tedious maths lecture, he had slowly turned into a would-be assassin.

“See,” PJ’s finger squeezed the trigger and he lets out a loud whoop as the gun fires, and the four of us watched in amazement as Karasuma didn’t even flinch. The bullets ricocheted off of him and he didn’t even bat an eyelid. Dodie smirked and PJ growled. “Son of bitch!” he yelled. The teacher however smirked and looked up from his book at the three of us. “PJ, that was a brilliant tactic, but didn’t I tell you I have a shield powerful enough to bound off a missile protecting me?” Karasuma grins at the messy haired boy, and I feel my own lips curling into a smile.

“How was I supposed to know?!” PJ yelled. Then; “What even are you? Are you even human?!” Karasuma nodded. “Correct. But I have been engineered into a weapon,” he grins before going back to his book.

PJ had gotten so pissed; he’d kicked a tree several times, yelling, and managed to get us spotted by Louise, who took pleasure in “killing” us too.

That was my life every single day from that point on. I was no longer Phil Lester. I was Phil Lester, a member of S class, one of eighteen young assassins.  I did get better as days and weeks went on. I nearly took Dan Howell down one time; when I straddled him bringing my knife down to end him. Though I’d gotten distracted by those fucking brown eyes. The others came to notice it too. Every time me and Dan were one-on-one in a fight, I always seemed to end up on the floor, and his face inches from mine. Even with the others circling us, I couldn’t seem to stop my cheeks blushing when he stared down at me with that twisted smirk. “Gotcha.”  He grinned down at me, eyes shining.  And I’d roll my eyes and wait for his plastic knife to stick into my school shirt.

But not that time. For the first time I’d been the one ontop of him, my faces inches from his and my knee digging into his crotch.  “Finish him, Phil!” the others were yelling, but they seemed to be far-away on another planet. We were lying on the grass in the field outside our classroom; the sky was a pretty light blue and the sun was blaring down on us. Dan stared up at me as I pinned him down, and it looked like, just for a second, that he was smiling at me. His cheeks were smudged red slightly.

“What are you waiting for Phil?” his voice was soft and sweet; slick as honey, and I thought: fuck. Because maybe I maybe kind of possibly had a crush on this psycho delinquent.

“Kill me.” He grinned. His fringe was stuck to his face with sweat and his brown eyes were far too wide and far too brown to be normal. They resembled melted chocolate.

I’d been in a mental debate whether Dan Howell’s eyes were a dark hazel or light gold, when his foot had suddenly struck out, catching me right in the crotch. This had been enough to knock the breath out of me and I’d let out a loud groan as he’d rolled off me and then bent down to grab the collar of my shirt and drag me to my feet. The others were suddenly yelling and their laughter and whoops were deafening. The only thing I could think of  then, was the sharp pain in my groin which seemed to be getting worse by the second, and the fact that Dan Howell had his forehead pressed to mine and his grin was wild as the fake metal of his knife dug harshly into my throat.

“Rule number one,” he’d smirked at me. “Don’t get distracted.”

-

Back in the present in the classroom with the boy who had singlehandedly knocked the breath out of me and slit my throat, if the knifes and lessons were real, I lean further into the wood of the door and shuffle uncomfortably. “What do you want me for?” I’d mumbled, wincing when he lunged forward excitedly. He was still holding the gun, and I was still trying to find a reason to bring out my knife to defend myself. Not that it would hurt him of course.

“Phil,” his tone had lost some of its excitement and now he was staring at me with a stupid smirk on his face. I frowned back at him. “What? We’re late for class?!” I can’t help my voice getting noticeably higher as I get increasingly irritated. “Are you suggesting we try and kill him again?” I let out a harsh laugh and fold my arms across my chest. “He’s unkillable, Dan. There’s no point.”

Dan smirked. “I wasn’t talking about killing the freak,” he like the others had come to call our teacher that. Though I settled on Karasuma. Dan sticks his gun in the pocket of his trousers leans towards me until our noses are practically touching. “Actually, yeah,” he chuckles. “I was talking about killing the freak, but-“ he grins and lowers his hand to my tie and starts to unfasten it.

I go warm all over. I want to tell him to stop, but my mouth suddenly cant formulate words. “You got distracted by me the other day, didn’t you?” he smirks mischievously and raises his eyebrows.

I try to look surprised, but I think I end up looking constipated. I think my answer is on my facial expression.

He rolls his eyes and grins.  “Dude, I have a plan to kill the freak, but first I want you to do something.” I stare at his lips as they move in sync to what he’s saying and my head starts to spin. My chest tightens and I suddenly have the overwhelming urge to run my hands though his hair.  “What’s that?” I breathe, pressing my back further into the door.

His lips stretch into not a twisted smile, but not an entirely sane smile either. He leans towards me and before I can pull away, he brushes his lips against mine, wrapping his arms around my neck. I panic at first and try to think of tactics I’d been taught to get out of an assailants grip. His lips are warm and I struggle for a second, trying to pull away, but he tightens his grip and laughs into the kiss.

“I’m not going to try and floor you, Lester,” he murmurs softly, and I relax slightly.

“Just fucking kiss me.”  He breathes. His breath tastes like peppermint and cigarette smoke.

And I do.

-

Ten minutes later, we return to class. I find my seat quickly and try to lick the taste of Dan’s lips off my own, as if knowing the others would suddenly find out that I made out with the class psycho, who was surprisingly gentle. His lips were so soft and every so often he’d come up for air and end up bursting out laughing, leaning into me. And surprising myself, I’d joined in. Both of us laughing so hard our stomach’s hurt, before Dan crawled ontop of me with that fucking smirk, once again pulling me into a kiss. I tried to concentrate on what our teacher was lecturing about, but it was hard to even think about anything apart from the way Dan’s eyes had been so peacefully shut as he kissed me, and the way his fingernails dug into my neck making me muffle a yelp, but not pulling back.

I flinch suddenly, when my classmates jump up, and I know what they’re going to do. Karasuma is at the front of the class reading off of the register, dodging bullets as the others try and get a successful hit. I know I need to be stood with them as the teacher yells their names, but my legs are wobbly, and all I really want to do now is return to the empty classroom down the hall and continue shamelessly making out with Dan until my lungs are starved of oxygen. I stay sat in my seat as Karasuma yells out names whilst dodging bullet after bullet which came his way.

“PJ?”

“Here!” PJ tries to throw a dagger, but the teacher just knocks it to the ground with one swift hand movement. PJ growls, not giving up, and pulls out his Semi-automatic.

“Zoe?”

“Here!” Zoe Sugg stands, eyes narrowed, fingers resting on the trigger as she packs bullet after bullet at the teacher. He doesn’t even flinch.

Karasuma yells out names of my classmate’s and then Dan’s. “Here!” His voice calls out, but it sounds flustered and not as poisonous as normal. I can’t help turning in my chair,  and Dan is stood there, his gun pointed, and he’s shooting like the others, but he looks unfocused. He catches my eye for a second and he fumbles with the trigger, his gaze going back to trying to kill Karasuma.

“Phil?” Karasuma says my name, and I stand up and grab my gun, but I can’t seem to find a weak spot or any weak points what Sam told us about. Instead I think of Dan’s lips, and Dan’s smile and Dan’s-

“Phil, your aim is unfocused and dodgy!” the teacher scolds. Then his eyes narrow suspiciously. “Are you distracted by something?”

Before I can answer, Dan has made it across the classroom in a split second, and is standing in front of the teacher. “Yeah,” Dan smirks and lunges, running his blade directly into Karasuma’s heart.  

“Me.”

-

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed! Leave me kudos if you did :3


End file.
